


Between the lines

by AlexisaFanST



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Star Trek: Just in Time Fest, Timefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisaFanST/pseuds/AlexisaFanST
Summary: Garak muses upon the years he and his beloved have spent together.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 34
Kudos: 57
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	Between the lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DHW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/gifts).



> I can't thank DHW enough. She's always such a helpful beta! She also makes me want to write when all I want to do most of the time is post stupid memes on Tumblr (she's also really cool and a lot of fun to be around).  
> Of all the silly ideas/stories we've discussed, I'm gifting you the most serious one. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Lots of love to all my sprint partners! 
> 
> Ya’yad (grandpa) courtesy of tinsnip and Vyc Kardasi dictionary.

Humans were such odd creatures, Garak observed not for the first time. So honest, so forthcoming. Even their skin was an open book for him to read.

And the specimen lying in bed by his side, eyes closed, was the book he knew best.

He rolled on his side to face his life companion, his husband, his best friend. The one he had chosen and who had chosen him in turn. 

His well manicured thumb hovered, hesitating, then slowly, careful to keep his touch light, he traced one of the thin lines around his spouse’s eye.

'Crow’s feet', he’d been informed. These were the lines he liked most. Wrinkles that had formed from thousands of smiles and fond expressions that he’d been starving for for years on a cold space station. 

> “What I want to know is, out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't?”
> 
> “My dear Doctor, they're all true.”
> 
> “Even the lies?”
> 
> “Especially the lies.”

Years later, once his dear doctor had chosen to join him on his crumbling world, he greedily, jealously, had wanted the crinkling hazel eyes for himself, and himself alone. 

The thin lines had grown a little deeper, then. The cause, the dust in the air, which left him blinking, and the unforgiving Cardassian sun. It had seemed so vain to the Human to use the sparse medical supplies to erase the proof that he loved and was loved.

His thumb slid slowly on a soft eyebrow, almost white now. So curious, so alien, and yet so familiar. Once again he traced a line, smaller but deeper that ran vertically in the hollow above a well defined nose.

'Frown Lines'.

The crippling doubt, the interrogation, the constant questioning. The Doctor often had wondered: could he have saved more lives? Had he done his best with the unfair advantage his demanding parents had forced on him? 

Part of it was section 31 and the unspoken threat, looming over them. Part of it was him too. He’d learnt to come to terms with it.

> "But the point is, if you lie all the time, nobody's going to believe you, even when you're telling the truth."
> 
> "Are you sure that's the point, doctor?"
> 
> "Of course, what else could it be?"
> 
> "That you should never tell the same lie twice..."

His hand moved higher, his index tracing the long horizontal lines etched into the otherwise unadorned forehead.

'Worry Lines'.

These were less marked than the others. Carefree youth had been replaced by the hardships of war and reconstruction, but through it all his husband’s exuberant optimism had sometimes vacillated, but the flame was never extinguished. 

> “I've been a fool. Let this be a lesson to you, Doctor - perhaps the most valuable one I can ever teach you. Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.”
> 
> “If that's true, it's a lesson I'd rather not learn.”

His hand brushed a grey temple, the back of his fingers ghosting above a slack cheek. 

He could see the small hollow, not far from the pale lips. He slowly moved a little closer, leaning in to brush them with his own.

His thumb caressed lovingly the place he still found so endearing.

'Dimples'.

Some had called it smugness. He had called it well earned pride. More often than not, the sign of mischief. A poor disguise that gave away acts of selflessness: a gift of Delavian chocolates, a ration discreetly added to his when food was scarce, a prestigious posting abandoned to help heal a forgotten and despised planet. 

The love. The knowing smile of the one who could read him almost as well as a book. That was Julian Bashir. 

> “I forgive you, for whatever it is you did.”

Garak regretfully lowered his hand and interlaced old human fingers with his, an echo of so many other times the same gesture had provided comfort, reassurance. They were still there. Together.

Garak turned on his back and closed his eyes. Sighing. 

He knew he should be grateful for the extra 20 years they’d spent together. Julian’s enhancements had proven useful in extending a human’s -short- lifespan.

How was he supposed to live now without half … No, his whole soul?

A discreet knock at the door. A half-Human half-Cardassian face peering solemnly from the threshold.

“Ya’yad, it is time now,” he whispered.

Garak observed his grandson's face just as he’d observed Julian’s. The slight frown between two sparkling hazel eyes. 

He smiled. 

The young man smiled back and there, somewhere between the corner of his lips and the faint ridges adorning his ears, the adored dimples appeared. And, just as in his favorite repetitive epics, a new generation rises as an older one falls. 

His world was filled with light again. 


End file.
